


Raising the Winchesters

by Lynx22281



Series: Growing Up in Sioux Falls [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx22281/pseuds/Lynx22281
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After John Winchester dies in a car accident, the boys go live with Bobby in Sioux Falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raising the Winchesters

The phone rang. 

Bobby startled awake, rolling over to squint at the alarm clock on the table next to his bed. _Goddamnsonofabitch_. The clock read 2:34am. If it wasn’t for the fact that Martin Cresser was hot on the tail of a werewolf just west of Phoenix and Jim Murphy was chasing down leads on a vampire nest over in Minneapolis, he wouldn’t even think about getting out of bed. As such, he gave the notion of getting up only a very brief consideration before rolling back over and closing his eyes. It was probably Cresser calling. Jim would have had the decency to wait until it was light outside to call. He wasn’t close enough to get to either of them in an emergency anyway. If it was important, whoever was calling would leave a message and he’d get back to them tomorrow. Well…later today. 

The phone rang again. 

Now that he was more awake, he realized the ring was from the old, rotary house phone, not any of the cordless phones on the secondary lines he installed in the house several years ago so he could play at being Deputy Director Robert Singer with the FBI or Dr. Bob Singh with the CDC whenever some hunter needed to give out a supervisor’s name and number to convince local law enforcement to cough up information on a case. 

The house phone never rang. Most people called the salvage yard number if they needed to get in touch with him since that was the one painted on the sign out front and listed in the phone book. He had trouble remembering who the last person he gave his home number to was; he had trouble even remembering what the number was. Maybe the damn thing was haunted. A likely story. The house was warded to high heaven against anything and everything out there, though a casual observer would never be able to spot the devil’s traps, protection sigils, and salt lines scattered all over the place. 

The phone didn’t stop ringing. 

Grumbling, he climbed out of bed and headed down the stairs where opal blue moonlight spilled eerily through the library and kitchen windows. Picking up the handset of the olive green phone hanging on the wall next the pantry, he answered the call with a grumpy “Singer”. 

“Bobby Singer?” 

“Yeah,” he replied brusquely. The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Martin or Jim. 

“Mr. Singer, I’m Officer Delacroix with the Louisiana State Police. I’m sorry to call so late, but there’s been an accident.” 

Bobby didn’t have any family down south. Hell, he didn’t have any family period; didn’t have much in the way of friends who would make him their point of contact either. Oh…wait. His stomach dropped. _Balls_. 

The officer continued. “Mr. Singer, Sam Winchester gave us your name and number as an emergency contact for his family. Are you related to Sam?” 

“Uncle.” After a particularly bad case involving a nest of ghouls nearly obliterating a small town in Oregon, he had forced John to make plans for the boys in case something ever happened to him. They agreed for Bobby to be the emergency family contact and to claim himself as the boys’ uncle so they could be released into his custody. John hadn’t been happy about being forced into a contingency plan, but in the end agreed that there was the very real possibility that he might not make it home from a hunt one day. 

He hadn’t seen the Winchesters since that time, almost a year ago. Of all the hunters he knew, he worried about John Winchester and his boys the most. They had somehow wormed their way into his life eight years ago when John needed information about tracking demons. Bobby never liked that the man kept his sons with him while he hunted. John was already dragging Dean on hunts though the kid wasn’t even legally old enough to drive yet and leaving Sam alone in seedy motel rooms. Whenever John got a lead on the bastard who’d pinned Mary to the ceiling, he’d take the time to drop the boys off with Bobby or Jim, whoever was closest, for several weeks, and then pick them up and carry on down the road again. As far as Bobby could tell, the trail on Mary’s killer had gone cold, either that or John didn’t bother taking time anymore to make sure his sons were safe before going after their mother’s murderer. 

Bobby’s gruffness dissipated into real concern. “What happened? Are the boys alright?” 

“There was a car accident, sir. John Winchester was dead when paramedics arrived on the scene. His sons have been admitted to St. Augustine's Hospital in Granger Parish. The older boy is still in surgery, but they think he’ll pull through just fine.” 

Bobby’s heart sank. Life never seemed to give the Winchesters a break. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he’d worry about the fallout from John’s death later. Right now he had two scared, injured boys to deal with. “How’s Sam?” 

“His wrist is broken, but other than that, he’s fine. I'd have him talk to you, but he’s asleep right now.” 

“That’s ok. Don’t wake him up. Just make sure he gets to stay with his brother. You’ll have less trouble from both of them if they stay together.” 

“Are you able to come to the hospital?” 

“I’ll get there as fast as I can, but it’ll take me at least a day. You got somebody who can watch them in the meantime?” 

“We’ll find a social worker to supervise them.” 

“Alright, but don’t you dare mention ‘social worker’ around those two,” Bobby warned the officer. “You do and they’ll be gone like two bats out of hell and you’ll never find them.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir. Might be best if one of the nurses can keep an eye on them, then.” 

“You got a number for the hospital?” 

After giving Bobby the hospital's phone number, the officer said, "They’re on the pediatric unit in room 306. The operator can put you straight through to the room phone or to the nurses’ station.” 

“Where’s their room in relation to the nurses’ station?” 

“In direct line of sight, sir.” 

“Good. You let those boys know I’ll be calling to check on them.” 

“Will do, sir.” 

Bobby hung up the house phone and grabbed one of the portable ones hanging in a row above the kitchen table. He couldn't stop to think, couldn't stop to mourn for John, or the boys either for that matter. Their precarious childhood had just taken one more devastating punch. He just hoped the accident wasn't because John Winchester got drunk off his ass and decided to go for a drive with the boys in tow. If that was case, then Bobby'd find a way to drag his black soul up from the depths of Hell just to wring his neck for causing the boys even more pain. With a sigh, he headed back upstairs to start packing, punching in a phone number on his way. 

"'ello?" came a groggy drawl on the other end of the line. 

"Hey, Benny. It's Bobby. Hate to wake you up in the middle of the night, but I gotta call in a favor. Pretty urgent one." 

"Anythin' for the man who's saved my ass more ‘n once." Benny perked up immediately. 

"I need you to scour Granger Parish for a wrecked '67 Impala." 

"Ol' Johnny-boy get himself into a little trouble down in my necka the woods?" the Cajun asked with a chuckle. 

Bobby sighed. Why did he always have to convey the bad news? _Shit_. He didn't think to ask if the boys knew their dad was dead or if that duty was going to be relegated to him too. No time to think about that now. "John's dead." 

Benny sucked in a breath before humming in sympathy. 

"His boys are laid up in the hospital. I'm on my way down, but I need you to find that car and secure it. They'll be in a world of trouble if some grease monkey or police investigator goes poking around her trunk." 

"Want me to look in on 'em for ya once I've found the car?" 

Bobby threw some clothes in his old Army duffle bag and considered the offer warily. "You ever met Sam and Dean?" 

"Nah. Worked with John on a case in Baton Rouge a couple years back, but he never brought me 'round to meet his kin." 

"They won't take kindly to a stranger showing up in their hospital room unannounced." Bobby tossed a handful of toiletries in the bag in case he couldn't find a hotel for the night. Nothing wrong with brushing your teeth in a gas station sink. "You still got that St. Brigit medal I gave you?" 

"Yeah, sure came in handy when I took down that Rougarou last year." 

"Show it to Dean and tell him I sent you. He might not cozy up to you right away, but he'll at least let you in the room." 

"Can do. You drive safe, Bobby. Don't wanna get a call askin’ me to come drag that old beat-to-hell, piece of shit you call a Chevelle out of a ditch." 

Bobby snorted. "Thanks, Benny. I'll call you when I get to town." 

"Ok, brutha. Take care." 

After the call, Bobby quickly dressed and headed out to the salvage yard's garage with his duffle bag to find a decent vehicle to get him and two injured boys 1000 miles back to South Dakota with some measure of comfort. Thankfully, 97-year-old George Russell from down the road had kicked the bucket two weeks ago and his kids brought his 1982 Cadillac Seville to the garage for some minor maintenance before they planned to sell it at the end of the month. Who would ever notice an extra couple thousand miles on a 12-year-old car's odometer? 

***** 

_Everything was blurry when he opened his eyes and his head hurt so bad. He could feel his brain throbbing with the beat of his heart. It was dark outside, but there was a bright light just to his right, probably a streetlight. Something warm and wet trickled into his eyes and down his face. He tried to wiggle, but that turned out to be a really bad idea. There was a dull ache in his belly and his chest burned from the seat belt pulled tight across it. Searing pain shot up his left leg when he tried to move it. His feet were wedged under the car's crumpled firewall. He had no idea if they were even still attached to his legs._

_The area was silent except for the gentle hiss of steam spewing out of the Impala's radiator. He swallowed roughly, trying to push past the pain, to do his duty and check on his family. "Sammy?"_

_"M'ok, Dean," came the unsteady reply from the backseat._

_He rolled his head carefully across the back of the seat to look towards the driver's side of the car. "Dad?"_

_John Winchester was slumped over the steering wheel, his head turned towards the passenger side. There was a deep gash over his forehead, skin peeled back to expose the pale bone beneath. His chest rose and fell raggedly with labored breathing. His eyes were focused on a point just beyond the outside of the car. A tender smile, the likes of which Dean hadn't seen in years, tugged at the bloody corners of his mouth._

_"Dad?" he asked again after getting no response._

_A soft motion fluttered at Dean's right shoulder, hovering over the busted window. Standing beside the car, bathed in the shimmering light that Dean had wrongly assumed was a streetlamp, stood his mom. Mary Winchester extended her hand out, smiling gently._

_"Mom?" He was awestruck. She was beautiful, more so than he ever remembered. Her eyes sparkled with love and joy and all the things that Dean associated with home, but they were gazing past him to the driver’s side. Long blonde hair cascaded down around her shoulders in soft waves. Her smile caused deep dimples to form in her cheeks; so that was where Sammy's big dimples came from, he thought._

_He tilted his head to look back at his dad to see if he saw Mom too. John's eyes were steadfastly staring in the same direction as before, but now they were glazed over. His chest was motionless._

_"Dad!" Dean reached over to shove at his dad's shoulder, trying to rouse the man. The movement caused spikes of pain to explode throughout his body. He cried out in agony and frustration._

_"Dean!" Sam finally seemed to have fully regained consciousness enough to be aware of how bad their situation was and was scrambling to get up from the floor of the back seat._

_When he looked back to his right, Mary was still there, but starting to fade away._

_"Mom! Don't go!" He felt like he was shouting, but his words were coming out in a slurred mumble. Blackness pressed against his vision, making the apparition of his mother dissipate even faster._

_She gave him a sad smile and reached out towards his cheek. He leaned towards her hand, but the touch never came._

_"Take me with you," he pleaded, his breath hitching dangerously in his chest._

_"Dean!" Sam cried again, seeing his brother's distress, but not the cause of it._

_Mary shook her head softly. "Take care of Sammy..."_

_"Dean! Stay awake, Dean! Dean!!"_

_In the distance he could hear the sirens wailing. Sam's voice seemed almost as far away. Dean didn't take his eyes off of his mom until the darkness cut out his sight and he drifted into nothingness._  
  
***** 

Dean jerked awake from his vivid nightmare. The sudden motion sent a wave of blinding pain rippling through every nerve in his body. He moaned as several alarms started blaring from his left side. The noise was overwhelmingly annoying. There was a heavy weight pressed against his right side that lifted quickly. He opened his eyes to a dim room he didn't recognize. 

"Dean? Dean!" Sam was right next to him, curled up with him on a bed. A handful of people dressed in scrubs barged into the room turning on all of the lights and began to fiddle with things around him, asking him questions he couldn't understand, telling Sam to get off the bed. He fisted his hand tightly in whatever of Sam’s clothes he could get hold of, not letting his brother leave. Groaning, he shut his eyes against the unwelcome intrusion and bright lights being shined into his face. 

Sam shook his right shoulder gently, calling his name again, telling him they were in a hospital, that they were ok. Wait...hospital? 

His chest tensed painfully as everything rushed back to him all at once. The high pitched squeal of tires skidding along pavement. The awful thud of the Impala hitting something head on. The crunch of glass shattering. The whine of steel bending and twisting under pressure. The white light. Mom. Dad. He choked on a sob that welled up from his throat and exploded out of his mouth in a croak. "Dad!" 

His eyes flew open, frantically searching for Sam's. His little brother was looking down at him with sorrowful hazel eyes. He looked like he'd been crying for hours; his eyes were all red and swollen. Big fat crocodile tears, the kind Sammy used to cry when he was really little, slid down his flushed cheeks. Dean wanted to reach up and thumb away his brother's tears, but the connection between his brain and arms was weak at best, allowing for only a pathetic twitch in his wrist. Sam reached out petting his cheek softly, murmuring words that he guessed were supposed to be comforting, but Dean's fuzzy head couldn’t make sense of them. 

Liquid warmth rushed through his veins dulling the all-consuming pain that radiated through every part of his body. His already heavy limbs were getting heavier by the moment. He locked eyes with his brother and tried his best to give him a reassuring smile, tried to let him know everything would be ok before he let the darkness take him again. His fingers loosened their death grip on Sam’s shirt as the sedatives pulled Dean back into unconsciousness. 

***** 

Sam had never felt so alone. Sure he had been left in hotel rooms by himself for hours on end before, but he always knew Dean and Dad would come back. Now, Dad wasn’t ever coming back and his brother was dying in a hospital. The doctors and nurses kept reassuring him that Dean was going to be ok, but his big, strong brother looked so pale and small in the bed surrounded by wires, tubes, poles, and monitors. A stitched up cut crossed from Dean’s hairline down to his right eyebrow. He had superficial scratches up and down both arms; it looked like he’d been in a fight with a cat. His broken left leg was propped up on several pillows. Those were just the injuries that could be seen. The sheets and hospital gown hid the big bruise crossing Dean’s chest from the seat belt and the bandage covering the incision on Dean’s abdomen where his ruptured spleen had been removed. Sam wasn’t exactly sure what a spleen did, but according to the doctors, a person could live perfectly fine without one. 

Sam was afraid to touch his brother anywhere, especially after he got yelled at earlier for climbing into the bed with Dean shortly after he returned to the room from surgery, but he needed to be as close as possible to Dean. The nearest he could get was sitting in a hard plastic chair at the edge of the bed with the fingers of his left hand resting lightly on top of Dean’s right hand, the only part of him not covered, stitched, bruised, or with a tube coming out of it. 

It was almost dawn. The sky outside the window was turning pale gray and pink, but Sam didn’t care. It would be night, dark and scary, until Dean woke up. He was tired, weary to the bone, but had forced himself to stay awake ever since Dean got out of surgery. One of them had to keep watch especially with too many strangers coming and going and a room door that couldn’t be locked. He was too scared to sleep, too scared to wake up and find his brother gone. 

His wrapped his hand around Dean’s fingers and squeezed. The tears were coming back. He leaned forward until he could bury his face into the mattress near his brother’s hip. The blankets muffled his quiet sobs. Grief, sorrow, pain, and guilt battled to overtake him. It had been his turn to sit up front in the Impala, but after a shouting match with Dad, he’d stormed off sit in the back so he could ignore him. Sam was stretched out asleep on the backseat when the accident happened. His broken wrist had been the result of trying to keep himself from flying into the foot well. If he had just sat up front like he was supposed to, Dean would have been in the backseat and wouldn’t have been hurt so badly. If he hadn’t gotten mad at Dad, maybe none of this would have happened at all. He couldn’t even remember what they’d been yelling about. His thoughts drifted into an endless stream of _what ifs_. 

The feeling of fingers weaving through his overly long hair startled him from his doze. He pushed himself from his weird position leaning over the bed and rubbed at the back of his sore neck. The room was brighter than it had been. 

“Mornin’, sleepy head,” Dean murmured, his words still slurring together from the effects of the painkillers. 

A bright smile broke out over Sam’s face. It took great restraint to keep from launching himself at his big brother and crushing him in a big hug. The joy at seeing his brother in the land of the living again overrode any remorse he felt for falling asleep. Maybe Dean wouldn’t blame him for letting his guard down. 

“You ok?” Dean asked, eyes not leaving Sam’s face. 

“Yeah,” he replied holding up his green cast-encased arm. “Broke my wrist.” 

Dean nodded, wincing at the motion. “That all?” 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” 

“Time s’it?” 

Sam glanced over to the clock on the wall. He must have slept for about an hour. “Almost 8 in the morning.” 

“Dad?” Dean asked, hoping that his nightmarish memories had really just been a dream. 

Sam silently shook his head. 

Dean’s eyes closed. He went so still, with no reaction whatsoever that Sam began to wonder if his brother had fallen asleep. When he opened his eyes again, Sam could see how terrified Dean was. “We gotta get outta here.” 

Though the older boy hadn’t started to move yet, Sam placed a hand on his chest in a preemptive gesture to keep his brother from trying to get up. “We can’t. You’re kinda attached to the bed.” 

Dean frowned before finally looking around to take stock of his current condition. There was an IV line going into the back of his left hand. He had monitor leads stuck to his chest with wires running out from the neck of his hospital gown. He shifted slightly and, yep, there was a catheter sticking out of his dick. Oh, that was all sorts of fucked up. He reached up with his free hand and scrubbed his palm over his face. His fingertips brushed against the line of stitches over his forehead. He let his head fall back against the pillows. Every little motion of his body was like a punch in the gut. 

“What’d they do to me, Sammy?” he whined. 

About that time a dark-haired nurse walked into the room. She gave them a smug little smile when she saw that both of them were awake. “Hello, boys. I’m Meg and I’ll be your nurse today. If you’re both good during my assessment, maybe I’ll think about feeding you.” 

Their nurse didn’t attempt to mother them or smother them with sympathy. Her humor was wry enough to coax the boys down from their guarded mindsets. Her hands were confident, but surprisingly gentle as she took their vital signs and checked casts, stitches, bandages, and IVs. She confirmed that Sam’s only injury was his broken wrist and that Dean’s injuries, while serious, were not life threatening as long as he didn’t develop any complications. 

“And, as long as you live by my rules, you won’t run into any problems. Understand?” She stuck a fist in one hip and eyed both Winchesters seriously. 

They both replied with a crisp, “Yes ma’am.” 

With a nod of satisfaction, Meg said, “Well, you’ve passed inspection. Guess I should let them bring in your breakfast trays. Sorry, Dean, you’re on a clear liquid diet for right now. Maybe Sam will let you sniff his bacon.” 

Her quip elicited a little half-smile from Sam, though he tried his best to hide it. 

She flipped through the chart she had laid on the overbed table, reading for a few seconds before she spoke again. “Oh, looks like we got a call a little while ago from somebody named Bobby Singer. You boys know him?” 

They perked up visibly at the name. Dean nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He’s our…uncle.” 

The emergency plan was to call Bobby if they ever got caught by police or social services and John wasn’t around to intervene. Dean still looked too young to pass for eighteen, too young to be responsible for himself and his brother though he’d been doing it for most of his life. Both boys carried his contact information in their wallets in case they were separated. 

She read off of a note in the chart. “He said he’s on his way down. Should be here tomorrow morning at the latest and he’ll call later to check in with you.” 

Dean was almost overwhelmed with the relief of knowing that he wasn’t going to have to deal with all of this his own. Tears threatened to well up in his eyes, but he took a painfully deep breath to force them away. 

Their breakfast trays arrived, giving them something immediate to focus on, something to take their minds off of what was going to happen next. Sam attacked his plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes with the single-mindedness of a starving puppy. Dean looked on jealously after discovering his breakfast consisted of green jello, a bowl of brown salty water that might have been beef broth, and apple juice, but he dutifully slurped down everything on the tray. They’d both learned years ago to never turn up their noses at a meal. 

The morning passed slowly with visits from Dean’s surgeon, a physical therapist, and a grief counselor (both boys shut down completely during that visit and absolutely refused to talk). At noon while they were both absorbed in their lunches, the phone on the bedside table rang. Dean left his spoon resting in the middle of his runny, orange jello and leaned over to reach for the phone. _Bad idea_. The motion pulled painfully at his incision making his breath catch in his throat. 

Sam jumped up at the sight of his brother’s grimace and grabbed the phone. “Hello?” 

“Sam?” a familiar voice asked. 

“Hey, Bobby!” he exclaimed with a smile. 

“How you boys doin’?” The muffled sounds of traffic buzzed in the background. 

“We’re ok.” And, for the moment, they were ok, at least in Sam’s mind. They were together. Dean was awake, they had food, and nobody was bothering them. “Where are you?” 

“About an hour north of Arkansas. Is Dean awake?” 

“Yeah, you wanna talk to him?” 

When Bobby answered in the affirmative, Sam handed the phone to Dean and went back to eating his chicken fingers. 

“Hey, Bobby.” 

“Hey, kid. You doin’ ok?” His voice was gruff, but obviously relieved to hear directly from Dean. 

“Been better.” 

“Had any visitors yet?” 

“Just doctors and stuff.” Dean idly pushed the globs of wiggly jello around the plate with his spoon. 

“A buddy of mine might stop in to check on you. His name’s Benny and he’s gonna get the car towed somewhere safe. I’ll take care of everything else when I get there. Don’t let anybody bully you into to doing anything before I get there, ok?” 

“Yes, sir.” For all of Dean’s independence and ability to look after himself and his brother, it was always reassuring when somebody he trusted gave orders for him to follow, to know that somebody else was in control. 

“I gotta get back on the road, planning to be there by midnight, God willin’. If you need anything in the meantime, call Benny. You got paper and a pen?” 

Dean gestured to Sam to find something to write with and jotted down the number Bobby gave him. 

“Ok, you two stay put and don’t do anything stupid.” 

Dean snorted softly. “We won’t. Thanks, Bobby.” 

They spent the rest of the afternoon watching Nickelodeon and napping. Dean finally convinced Sam to go lay down on the other bed in the room after he fell asleep sitting up in the chair. He reassured his little brother that he’d still be there when he woke up. After Meg’s next visit to take his vital signs and reassess his IVs, Dean let his own eyes drift closed for a while. When he opened his eyes again, Sam was still asleep and two familiar duffle bags had appeared on the chair between their beds. There was no other sign that anybody else had been in the room until Dean saw a note sitting on the overbed table still positioned over his knees. Sitting up very slowly, he took the note and read it. 

_Got the car towed back to my place. I’ll take good care of it. Thought you might want your stuff._  
 _Regards,_  
 _Benny_

He knew this Benny guy meant well and he’d probably thank the man one day if he ever actually met him, but Dean just couldn’t shake off the deep feeling of unease that both he and Sam had slept through somebody coming into their space. Anything could have happened. Sure they were in a hospital and it was probably one of the safest places to be, but they were alone and didn’t know anybody except for Meg. They didn’t know who belonged there and who didn’t, and the hospital staff certainly didn’t know who should be allowed in their room to visit. Dean was as good as tied to the bed, but Sam wasn’t. It’d be easy for somebody to just pick the scrawny 11-year-old up and drag him out of the room, and Dean wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it. That thought made it hard to breathe. 

Dad was gone, Dean was useless, and Sam was vulnerable. Dad was gone. He wouldn’t walk through the door at any moment to sneak them out during the chaos of shift change. Dad was gone, never coming back. They had no one, no family to take them in, and the only home they’d ever known was in a crumpled heap under a tarp in some stranger’s backyard. 

Dean glanced over to his brother. Sam was facing him, his body almost completely motionless aside from the very gentle rise and fall of his chest. He’d been around his little brother long enough to know the kid was absolutely exhausted and would probably sleep through a nuclear bomb going off right outside the window. Only because of that fact did he let the tears stream down his face, not bothering to even try to swallow the little hitching sob that rose up from his stomach. He was scared. He couldn’t take care of Sam without Dad, even if Dad was hardly ever around. He needed Dad, or at least the idea of Dad to keep him going. Now they were alone. 

His hands shook as he lifted them to his face to scrub away his tears. He had no idea where they were going to stay long-term or what they’d do for money. He wouldn’t be sixteen for another seven months, and he couldn’t drop out, get his GED, and start working until then. He still looked too damn baby-faced to pass as an 18-year-old. Sam had already started asking about going back to school in August, and of course John had had no idea where they’d be in a week, much less a month. His little brother had been begging for John to let them stay with Pastor Jim again so they could go to the school in his neighborhood. It was the only school where they had ever completed a full semester, from the first day of class to the last. Maybe they could bounce between whoever in Dad’s very small circle of friends might have a spare room they could use. Dean could get a part-time job or do chores to cover their keep. 

This was all way too big for Dean. Dad made all the important decisions – where they were going next, when they were leaving, how long they were staying, whether or not he’d bother enrolling the boys in school wherever they ended up. Dean only made the little decisions – Lucky Charms or Spaghetti-Os for dinner, showers before bed or in the morning, letting Sam watch TV while he field stripped all their weapons or making him help out. 

Meg quietly entered the room, expecting the boys to be sleeping. "Hey there, kiddo. Have a good nap?" 

The distraction was more than welcome. He was heading down into a dark headspace that would probably result in a really bad panic attack. Dean shrugged as he held his arm out for the nurse to take his blood pressure. He felt her eyes on him as she squeezed the pump on the cuff, but kept his eyes resolutely forward on the silent TV, which was showing a rerun of _Are You Afraid of the Dark?_. 

"Something wrong?" She frowned softly at him as she started her assessment. "If you're not feeling good, you need to tell me so I can do something about it. Chest pain, hard to breathe, nausea, whatever. You gotta let me know, ok?" 

"I'm fine." 

She tutted softly, not believing him. But, as she finished her head-to-toe check, she had to agree with him. His breathing was unhindered. His incision wasn't inflamed. When she palpated his abdomen, he didn't wince any more than expected. His toes on the foot of his broken leg were cool to the touch from being uncovered, but the capillary refill was normal. His temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation were normal. Physically he was as fine as a boy recovering from a broken leg and splenectomy should be. 

Meg tapped her forefinger against her own temple. "Getting lost up here?" 

His eyes slid over to her briefly before he looked down at his hands, fingers picking at the corner of the tape holding down the IV needle. 

"I know you didn't talk to the grief counselor earlier, and I don't blame you. I think she missed her calling as a rodeo clown with the amount of make-up she cakes on herself every day." 

Dean didn't even crack a smile. 

The normally sardonic nurse softened slightly. "If you want to talk, I'm here for another couple of hours. If you don't want to talk to me, our evening chaplain's a really nice guy. He's not real pushy with his religion either. Just lends an ear to anybody who needs it. I've even cried on his shoulder a time or two." 

Dean raised a disbelieving brow. From what little interaction he'd had with the nurse, he sensed she wasn't the type of girl to go all mushy over things. He shook his head. "Don’t wanna talk." 

Sam started shifting around on the bed, a clear sign that he'd be awake within ten minutes. 

Meg rested her hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. "When the little moose over there wakes up, you should have him wheel you around the floor. It's not good to be cooped up in one of these rooms for too long." 

She left, and not too long afterwards, Sam finally woke up. Dean talked him into getting out of the room for a while. Crutches and abdominal surgery didn't play well with each other, so an orderly brought a wheelchair for Dean to use. He kept one hand on his IV pole, dragging it along, while Sam pushed the chair; it was awkward until he figured out how to push with one hand and an elbow. Meg was off doing rounds, but one of the nurses at the nurses' station pointed them in the direction of the playroom. 

"Dean! They have a Nintendo!" Sam sped over to the far wall of the brightly decorated room where a TV and game system were waiting. 

They spent the next hour playing _Mario Kart_ , and for once, Dean won most of the rounds. Sam complained that he had to hold his controller funny because of the cast on his left wrist. Meg came to get them for dinner and to introduce them to their night nurse, Tamara. After eating (Dean graduated to a full liquid diet and got to eat tomato soup with ice cream for dessert) they settled in for a quiet evening. Sam dug his old battered copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ from his duffle bag, sprawling on his bed to read, while Dean dozed during Nick at Nite commercial breaks. 

Shortly after eleven o’clock, a road-weary Bobby Singer showed up at the nurse’s station. 

A dark-skinned nurse addressed him without looking up from her charting. “I’m sorry, sir, but visiting hours ended at 8.” 

“I’m Bobby Singer, Sam and Dean Winchester’s uncle.” 

“Mr. Singer, we’ve been expecting you.” Smiling, she set immediately down her pen and stood up to offer him her hand. “I’m Tamara. I’m your nephews’ nurse for the night. Would you like to see them?” 

Nodding, he shook her hand and followed her to the door directly across the hallway. Before they entered, he asked, “How are they doing?” 

“Physically, they're doing ok. Sam hasn't complained about his wrist much. Dean's pain is under control and he's been moving around some, hard to do with a broken leg and an incision, but he's managing. I'm not sure they've quite processed their father's death yet, but that's understandable." 

Bobby nodded at the nurse's report. He could only hope that John being mostly absent from their daily lives so far would somehow soften the permanent loss they now faced. Of course, an absent father was better than no father at all. 

The room was dim, only the light over one bed was turned on. Dean was asleep in the bed closest to the door, lying on his side facing Sam who was curled up and so focused on his book that he didn’t notice Bobby and the nurse walking in. 

“Sam,” Tamara called softly. “You have a visitor.” 

Sam glanced up from his page. When his eyes fell on Bobby, his face lit up in one of those 1000-watt Sam Winchester smiles. He scrambled out of the bed and over to the older man's side, throwing his arms around him, heedless of the cast on his own arm. “Hey, Bobby!” 

“Hey, kid,” the older hunter said with a smile twitching his moustache as he squeezed the kid in a one-armed hug. 

“I’ll leave you alone. Mr. Singer, you can stay with them as long as you want.” The nurse turned to check a bag of fluid hanging from Dean’s IV pole before leaving the room. 

Bobby sat down on the edge of Sam’s bed, looking across to Dean who was still sleeping. Sam sat close to Bobby, his socked toes brushing against the tiled floor. 

“Tamara gave him something to help him sleep an hour ago. He probably won’t wake up until morning.” 

“That’s ok. He needs to rest.” 

Now that Bobby was here, he didn’t really know what to say to the boys. He wasn’t used to dealing with kids, much less injured, grieving kids. Sure the Winchester boys had spent a handful of nights over the past few years at his house, but he’d never actually been responsible for them for more than a few days at the time. 

Sam flipped his thumb along the pages of his paperback. His happiness at seeing Bobby was already starting to fade away. The hunter’s arrival signaled the end of the weird limbo they’d been in for the last 24 hours, stuck between the old world of living on the road in the Impala and the uncertainty of a world without their dad. Sam quietly asked, “Are you gonna take us to Sioux Falls?” 

“Yeah, but we’ll talk about that tomorrow when your brother’s awake, ok?” Bobby clamped his hand reassuringly on the back of the boy's neck. 

“Ok.” Sam nodded and slumped into the hunter's side. 

Bobby could feel Sam's breathing starting to slide off rhythm. His hand slid from the kid’s neck down to his arm and pulled him tight. Sam's shoulders began to shake with the effort of holding himself together. Bobby just tucked him under his chin and let him cry. The kid's dad was dead and his brother was hurt, he had every right in the world to cry as much as he wanted to. There was no use telling him it would be ok. Platitudes, no matter how well intended, never helped. Things wouldn't be ok for the Winchesters anytime soon. His heart broke for these two and their tragic young lives. He might not have had the happiest childhood, but at least he'd had his mom and a roof over his head. 

Eventually Sam calmed down except for a random hiccup every few minutes. Tamara came back in with a pillow and blanket that she placed on the recliner in the corner. 

"Mr. Singer, you’re welcome want to stay the night if you don't mind sleeping in the chair." 

At the nurse's suggestion, Sam pushed himself up to his feet and rubbed his eyes with the cuff of his sweatshirt sleeve. "Bobby can have the bed. I'll sleep in the chair." 

The nurse started to protest, but Sam shook his head, undaunted. He gave Bobby a quiet, sniffly hug before shuffling across the room to the curl up in the recliner. 

Tamara shared a look with Bobby, who shrugged. "As long as ya'll don't think I'm a patient and start stickin' tubes in me, I guess I'll take the bed." 

"I'll make sure everybody knows you're in here with them." She fussed over Dean for a few minutes before turning back to Bobby. "I'll be in around 3 for a quick check. If you need anything in the meantime, there's a call button on the bedrail." 

"Thanks." 

By the time the nurse left, Sam was passed out in the chair. Bobby imagined it was just as comfortable, if not more so than places the kid was used to sleeping -- a motel cot, the backseat of the Impala, sharing a bed with his brother. His bag was still in the Cadillac, but he was too worn out to bother leaving to go get it, so he just toed off his boots and stretched out on top of the covers. He fell asleep still feeling the rumbling of the road beneath him. 

***** 

Bobby's snores were music to Dean's ears when he woke up the next morning. Sam was still asleep in the recliner, clutching his paperback against his cheek like a stuffed animal. Slowly, Dean stretched his arms and legs, cringing at the pull on his stapled incision. He pushed the call button. 

"Can I help you?" came the voice over the little intercom built into the bedrail. 

"Yeah. Uh...I'd like to go to the bathroom." 

"Ok. The nurse will be right there." 

Very carefully, Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His body was sore, but at the same time, it felt good to move. His rustling woke up both Bobby and his brother. Two pairs of groggy, concerned eyes turned to him. He gave them both a little smile, rather proud that he managed to sit up on the side of the bed by himself. The sooner he could start moving around, the sooner he'd be discharged, he hoped. 

"You ok, son?" Bobby asked as Sam rushed over to Dean's side. 

"I'm good," he replied, roughly patting his sleepy brother's shoulder as the kid leaned heavily into his side. Dean looked over to Bobby and sheepishly said, "Thanks for coming, Bobby." 

The hunter gave him a gruff smile as he leaned over to tie up his boots. "Guess I better go get my bag out of the car so I can freshen up." 

"Did you drive the Chevelle?" Dean brightened up. Next to the Impala, Bobby's car was his second favorite vehicle. 

"Nah. Borrowed a customer's Caddy." 

Dean raised a brow. "Borrowed?" 

"I'll give it back when I'm done with it." Bobby shrugged, trying for innocence, but failing miserably. 

Dean grinned and shook his head. 

After a short knock, Meg walked into the room. "Everybody get some beauty sleep last night?" 

The nurse introduced herself to Bobby before he headed out of the room to fetch his things from the car. Then she turned to Dean and helped him hobble to the bathroom while Sam curled around Dean's pillow to go back to sleep in Dean’s vacated bed. The nurse set out toiletries on the sink counter within Dean's reach. "When you're done in here, just push the button on the wall and I'll come help you back to the bed or to the chair." 

"Ok, thanks." Dean was happy to finally be able to do something for himself, even if it was just brush his teeth. He felt gross, going on a couple of days since his last shower. But with a cast and staples, showering wasn't an option. Maybe he'd get a sponge bath. Meg wasn't exactly a hot nurse, but he had to admit she was kinda cute. Of course, he couldn't enjoy having his first sponge bath with Bobby and Sam in the room. For now, he settled for running a wet wash cloth over all the places he could comfortably reach. 

Morning was a busy time on the floor. As soon as Dean was finished in the bathroom and settled in the recliner to eat his breakfast of scrambled eggs, milk, and ice cream while watching Saturday morning cartoons, the surgeon walked in. The doctor gave Bobby a full report on Dean's surgery and recovery. He expected Dean to be in the hospital for at least three more days. 

"When will he be ok for the drive to South Dakota?" Bobby asked. 

The surgeon frowned softly as he rubbed his chin. "Ideally, I wouldn't suggest travel so soon after major abdominal surgery, but I realize you folks aren't from around here. I'd really like for you to wait at least a week after you've been discharged before heading out on the road and to take lots of breaks on the way up there. I know you made the trip straight down in less than a day, but I would recommend not driving more than a couple of hours without stopping and to call it a day after 8 hours." 

Dean groaned from the recliner. "It'll take us forever to get there." 

Sure he was used to being on the road day in and day out and staying at motels, but it was easier to handle life on the open highway when he wasn't cut open and broken. 

Bobby just shook his head. "Well, we don't have to figure that out right this minute." 

The surgeon nodded in agreement. "We're in no rush to kick you out. We want you to walk out in the best condition possible. I'll have my staff find a surgeon near your town so I can sign your aftercare over to somebody local." 

The physical therapist stopped by shortly after the doctor left. She worked with Dean on some exercises he could do from the recliner and helped him take his first wobbly steps with the crutches. She encouraged him to take short walks to help speed up the healing process and to prevent complications. 

When the morning rush finally died down, the room fell quiet. As soon as the breakfast trays were cleared away, Sam wormed his way next to his brother in the big chair. Bobby had seen them like this many times before. Whenever Sam was feeling particularly uneasy about a situation or just desperate for his brother’s attention, he’d turn into an octopus and cling to Dean. 

Now that they were finally alone, Bobby knew he had to start the painful discussion of what was going to happen next. “You know that me and your daddy had a big heart-to-heart the last time you were up at my place.” 

They nodded. Dean remembered the almost-but-not-quite yelling that filtered up the stairs from the Bobby’s kitchen when the older hunter cornered their dad about what he thought was going to happen to Sam and Dean when John didn’t come home from a hunt one day. Initially, Dean had been angry at Bobby too, especially about how he insinuated that John didn’t care about the boys’ safety. But after they’d left and John had calmed down, Dean began to see that Bobby’s concern was valid. There had been a couple of times over the last year when Dad had been uncommonly late in returning to the motel or calling to check on them, and Dean had actually started to worry that maybe he wasn’t coming back. 

“Before ya’ll left, I convinced him to send me copies of all your paperwork – birth certificates, military papers, deed to the Impala, everything important. He scratched out a will and named me your guardian so social services wouldn’t be able to split you two up.” 

The boys were quiet. The reality of their dad being gone was really starting to sink in. Sam gave a little sniffle and rubbed at his nose with his shirt sleeve. Dean just stared down at the floor. 

“So, you two are coming to stay with me when Dean gets out of the hospital. That ok with you boys?” 

“S’not like we have anywhere else to go,” the older boy replied sullenly. 

Normally Bobby would have rolled his eyes and made a snarky remark back to the kid, but circumstances being as they were, he decided to hold his tongue. Dean was right; there was nowhere else for them. They had no living family that anybody knew about. Maybe John still had family somewhere. Maybe Mary even had family somewhere. But it was obvious that John had burned bridges with the lot of them or he wouldn’t have agreed to the arrangement with Bobby. He reached out resting his hand on Dean’s knee and looked between him and Sam. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t serious.” 

Dean looked up to the older hunter with gratefulness shining in his sad eyes. He knew that Bobby didn’t joke around or make promises he wouldn’t honor. Well, except for that time when he promised John that he’d make Dean practice with the double-barreled shotgun and took him to the park to play catch instead. 

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean said quietly, rubbing at his nose with the back of his right hand. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam echoed. 

“What about Dad?” Dean asked trying not to let his voice crack. 

“I got Benny working on that.” 

“Salt and burn?” Sam asked timidly. The kid had a couple years of supernatural knowledge under his belt and already understood the importance of properly purifying a body to keep the spirit from turning into a ghost. And if anybody was likely to turn into a restless, wandering spirit it was John Winchester. Not catching your wife’s killer definitely counted as unfinished business. 

“Yeah,” the hunter replied. 

“Can we…can we take him to Lawrence? To be with Mom?" Dean asked fiddling with the hem of his hospital gown, averting Bobby's gaze. One fat tear ran down his left cheek and he irritably pushed it away with his fist. 

Bobby nodded. “Yeah, we can do that.” 

Dean bit down on his lower lip to keep it from quivering. He took a few moments to calm himself down again before asking, “What about the Impala?" 

“Benny’ll look after it. I haven’t seen it so I don’t know if it’s salvageable.” 

“If there’s only one working part, that’s enough. I’ll fix her.” Dean raised his watery green eyes. There was a flash of determination in the look he gave to Bobby. He might be able to let go of his father, but he’d never be able to let go of the symbols of their family. 

“I’ll get the old girl towed back to the garage and see what we can do.” Bobby had no idea what condition the car would be in when he finally got a look at it, but he knew a car involved in a fatal accident usually ended up being little more than pile of damaged parts and scrap. 

Dean looked satisfied, but didn’t reply. He just tucked Sam, who was sniffling against his shoulder, closer to his side. 

Bobby watched them quietly for a few moments before pushing off the bed and kneeling down in front of the chair. He reached out cupping Dean’s right cheek with his left hand and Sam’s left cheek with his right hand. “I won’t say that everything’ll be ok, but I will say that it’s ok to be sad. It’s even ok to be angry. Just, don’t let it eat at you, that’s a dark road you don’t want to go down. If you need something, you let me know. That’s what I’m here for. You boys don’t have to do this on your own. Understand?” 

Two pairs of sad, teary eyes regarded him silently, heads bobbing in acknowledgement of his words. He knew without a doubt that John Winchester loved his sons. The man might not have made the best decisions when it came to raising them, but everything he did was out of love for his family. His love for Mary drove him to find the demon who murdered her, and his love for the boys was what made him keep them close instead of permanently fostering them off on someone else when he was on the road. Bobby would never replace John and he had no intention of even trying, but he would give Sam and Dean a home to call their own and take care of them to the best of his ability. And, he would try his damnedest to let them just be boys for as long as possible. He knew there was no chance at preventing either of them from taking up John’s cross if they chose to do so, but he wouldn’t let either of them start anytime soon. 

"Good,” he said softly as he leaned back and stood up. "Now, does this TV get Telemundo?"


End file.
